Chapter 1 – Echoes of the Last Light

  Year 1000 S.Y., Kingdom of Aeloria, City of Caelrin

  The sun dipped low beyond the horizon, casting Caelrin’s white stone towers in a warm amber glow. The city of Caelrin, far from the charred battlefields of old, thrived in peace—a prosperous jewel of the Eldrynn continent, after 1000 years of war of the Last Light.

  At the heart of Caelrin stood the ancestral estate of House Valtier, a noble bloodline as old as the kingdom itself. Known once as the "Wardens of the Veil," the Valtier family had long been entrusted with guarding ancient relics and knowledge passed down from the Age of Radiance. Their legacy was etched in both reverence and secrecy—histories whispered in libraries sealed to all but the blood of Valtier. It was said their line once counted seers, saints, and bladesworn protectors among their ranks, and while time dulled many truths into legend, their influence had never waned.

  Count Darian Valtier, the current patriarch, was a man molded by duty and tempered by quiet sorrow. He had ascended as head of the house in the aftermath of a brutal court feud two decades prior, when betrayal among noble lines nearly fractured the kingdom’s unity. Unlike the loud, prideful lords of court, Darian ruled with measured wisdom, his silver-streaked black hair and lined face bearing the weight of a thousand expectations. Many in the capital whispered he had once been a formidable swordsman, a commander who stood at the Twilight Rebellion's final battle. Though he no longer wore armor, his presence still commanded a room like an unsheathed blade. Beneath his calm exterior, however, lay a man fiercely protective of his family, especially his children.

  Inside the stately manor of House Valtier, a quiet chamber hummed with the soft flicker of candlelight. Ten-year-old Leon Valtier sat cross-legged on an embroidered rug, a massive tome resting on his knees. His dark hair, almost black but kissed with deep violet highlights, a visage too serious for his age, framed by eyes colder than the wintry wind outside.

  Near him sat his little sister Elira, barely five, golden curls tumbling around her round cheeks, bright eyes brimming with wonder. Her laughter was a rare warmth amid the cool, austere study.

  Their parents watched silently from a nearby bench. Count Darian Valtier, a tall man with silver-streaked black hair and a stern but kind countenance, wore a fine embroidered tunic that marked his high rank. Lady Selene, graceful and composed, with deep violet hair falling in soft waves and eyes reflecting the calm of twilight, held a gentle smile.

  “Tell me again, Leon,” she begged, clutching a small stuffed gryphon. “Tell me about the heroes! The ones who saved the world!”

  I closed the book with a soft thud, barely concealing a smirk. “You always want the same story, Elira. You know it’s not bedtime yet.”

  “But it’s my favorite,” she whined, leaning against me.

  I sighed, settling back. “Fine. Just the beginning.”

  I opened the tome again, voice steady, almost detached, like reciting a well-rehearsed lesson.

  “The Hero Party of the War of Last Light

  Long ago, when the world was on the brink of annihilation, a group of four heroes stood against the darkness that threatened all existence.

  Warrior – Serion Vael’tharis

  The warrior is the frontline shield of any battle. Serion was clad in radiant armor that caught every glimmer of light, wielding a mighty sword. Warriors emphasize Aura — an energy that flows from the spirit and body, enhancing strength, endurance, and resilience. Through Aura, a warrior can bolster their physical might and command the battlefield with unyielding presence.”

  Elira’s eyes were wide. “Like a big, shiny knight?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Then there was Lysara Vynthiel, the mage.

  Mage – Lysara Vynthiel

  Mages manipulate the elemental forces through Mana, the raw magical energy permeating the world. Lysara’s dark violet hair flowed like shadowy flames, her eyes like abyssal depths. She could summon fire, ice, and lightning with a flick of her hands. Mastery over Mana allows mages to cast destructive spells or weave complex enchantments.”

  “Cool! Like magic fireworks!” Elira giggled, curling her fingers in pretend casting.

  Summoner – Kaeron Duskvale

  Summoners call forth beings from other realms using a blend of Mana and Aura to tether spirits and beasts. Kaeron had a quiet, mysterious aura and eyes that seemed to pierce through veils of reality. His summoned creatures ranged from fierce dragons to ethereal wolves. Summoners balance control and bond with their summons, making them unpredictable yet powerful allies.”

  Elira tilted her head. “Were the creatures big and scary?”

  My lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. “Some were. But he was loyal to them, like a master to his companions.”

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  “And then,”My voice softened, “there was

  Elenwyn Seraphielle – the saintess

  The saintess wields light itself, focusing on restoration and protection. Her power is a sacred flow of Mana purified through faith and will, capable of healing grievous wounds and shielding allies from harm. Elenwyn’s presence was a beacon amid despair, her hands glowing with gentle light that mended flesh and spirit alike.”

  Elira’s face grew solemn, her small hand grippingLeon’s arm. “She sounds nice.”

  My cold gaze flickered briefly as I looked down at my sister. “She was.”

  Elira yawned, her excitement fading into sleepiness. “I want to be like her someday.”

  My expression hardened once more as I closed the book. “Heroes are rare, Elira. And the world has changed since their time.”

  She nestled closer. “But you’re my hero,Leon.”

  I said nothing, letting the silence settle between us like a fragile shield against the world outside.

  The candlelight flickered softly as Count Darian and Lady Selene exchanged quiet glances. Watching their children, they felt a mix of pride and growing unease.

  “He’s always been serious for his age,” Lady Selene murmured, her voice tinged with worry. “But these last few years...Leon’s become colder, more distant. He barely speaks to anyone outside this room. Even at court, he keeps to himself.”

  Darian’s gaze lingered on their son, seated so still and composed, like a statue carved from ice. “He carries a heavy burden. The expectations, the legacy of House Valtier... It’s not easy for a boy.”

  Selene’s fingers nervously twisted the fabric of her sleeve. “I fear he hides too much. Only Elira seems to break through that wall. What if he shuts everyone out one day? What will become of him?”

  Darian placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “He’s strong, Selene. Stronger than we realize. The coldness you see... perhaps it’s his way of protecting himself.”

  Her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed. “I only wish he would let us in more.”

  “Give him time,” Darian said softly. “For now, he trusts only Elira. That’s something. And when the time comes, we’ll be there for him.”

  As the night deepened, the two watched over their children — the bright-eyed girl sleeping peacefully and the boy whose solemn gaze seemed to pierce through worlds unseen. The war had ended a thousand years ago, but its shadows still lingered in the heart of their heir.

  The Next Day

  Morning light seeped into my room through the tall windows, painting faint golden lines across the stone floor. The city of Caelrin still slept beneath a blanket of mist, but I was already wide awake—had been for hours.

  I stood in front of the mirror, shirt half-buttoned, tunic draped over the chair beside me. The boy staring back had my face, my eyes, my name.

  But lately, I didn’t feel like that boy at all.

  The mirror always looks the same.

  I don’t.

  I stared at the boy reflected in the glass. Dark hair tousled from sleep, violet streaks catching the pale morning light. Eyes—my eyes—too sharp for a child. Not angry. Not sad. Just… empty.

  I pressed my fingers to the cool glass. My voice, flat and low, slipped past my lips before I could stop it.

  “You’re not normal.”

  The words didn’t sting. They weren’t meant to.

  “Ten years old. You should care about toys. Games. Feasts. Not wars… not blood.”

  I tilted my head slightly, studying myself like a stranger.

  “But you dream about it every night, don’t you?”

  A beat passed.

  “Demons. Screams. Blades through bone. The stink of burning flesh. And the worst part?”

  I leaned closer, my breath fogging the mirror.

  “You feel nothing when you see it. No fear. No panic. Just familiarity.”

  I pulled back, eyes narrowing. My tone dropped colder, edged with something unreadable.

  “You’ve done it before. Haven’t you?”

  The silence answered louder than any voice ever could.

  “For three years now... war lives in your head like a parasite. And you don’t fight it. You let it crawl in. You let it stay.”

  I took a breath, steady. Controlled.

  “Maybe it’s not a dream at all.”

  My fingers curled into a fist.

  “Maybe it’s who you are.”

  Another pause. Then I let out a soft, bitter laugh—a sound that didn’t belong to a ten-year-old.

  “No wonder you’re so cold. No wonder they all feel like strangers. You don’t belong in this peace.”

  I straightened my collar, adjusted the sash of my tunic with mechanical precision. The boy in the mirror did the same. He looked like me.

  But I wasn’t sure I was still him.

  “Elira still believes I’m her hero,” I murmured. “Innocent thing. She doesn't see the cracks.”

  I turned from the mirror, voice colder now. Final.

  A knock rattled the door. Light. Rhythmic. Familiar.

  “Elira,” I muttered before she even spoke.

  “Leon!” Her voice, sweet and urgent, chirped from behind the wood. “You’re gonna miss the falcon parade!”

  A faint smile tugged at my lips. She always managed that—piercing the fog in my mind without trying. Like sunlight through cracked glass.

  I turned from the mirror.

  Reaching for the layered ensemble laid out the night before, I slid into the high-collared charcoal shirt and fastened the obsidian buttons with precise, practiced movements. Over it, a deep indigo waistcoat embroidered with silver thread—House Valtier’s sigil, the twin-bladed gryphon—rested like armor. I pulled on the fitted blazer, its shoulders sharp, lined with subtle runes etched into the fabric, unseen by most but ever present.

  No sword. Not today. But the weight on my shoulders felt the same.

  I adjusted the cuffs, smoothed the lapels, and met my reflection one last time. My voice was flat—barely a breath.

  “Let her shine in the light a little longer.”

  I opened the door, stepping into the hall before my shadow could answer back.

  “I’ll stay in the dark.”

  For now.